ChaosMajesty

In the world of cultivation, countless tales follow righteous protagonists, fated heroes blessed by destiny, or those chosen by heaven to walk the path of immortality.

But what of those who stand in their way?

What of the villains? The so-called obstacles to the hero’s journey—do they not bleed, dream, and struggle as well?

Xiao Ning was never meant to succeed.

From the very beginning, the Grand Dao wove him as a stepping stone—a necessary sacrifice to elevate another. His path, like that of all designated ‘villains,’ was doomed to failure by design.

But what happens when that design is defied?

After death, Xiao Ning awakens—not in the cycle of reincarnation, but in the cold silence beyond it. There, he is offered the Eternal Paradox Codex—a forbidden artifact containing the hidden truths of the Grand Dao System itself.

 Rules. Loopholes. Vulnerabilities.

Knowledge not meant for those like him.

With this power, Xiao Ning is granted a single, impossible choice: accept oblivion, or step outside the Grand Dao entirely—to abandon fate, sever karma, and cultivate a path unbound by heaven or law.

It is Xiao Ning’s journey, from ashes to something beyond comprehension.

Not to become an Immortal among men.

But something even the heavens dare not bind.

If fate is a chain…
Then let him forge his own path in the void beyond.

Welcome to this humble tale.
The cultivation world is vast and unkind.

Let us begin again—on our terms.

Cultivating Immortality :I Obtained The Villain's Ascension Code

"Unless we are certain it was their doing," Mo Yuntian replied, "we will not breach the truce. You may call it pragmatism, or weakness… but it is necessary."

It was then that Elder Lin Guang cleared his throat.

"There is another matter… related, yet more disturbing."

The elders turned toward him with guarded expressions .

Mo Yuntian's gaze sharpened faintly. "Speak."

Lin Guang raised his hand, and with a flick of his sleeve, a jade slip floated into the air. It glowed with faint green light before unraveling into a projection.

A flickering image appeared—blurred, as if recorded from afar through layers of illusion-repelling mist. But even so, the scene was unmistakable: a man clad in black and silver robes with his hands clasped behind his back

The name dropped like a stone into still water.

Threads of Deception, Roots of War